Dunk
by pchan1912
Summary: 'He's wet. Dripping, soaking, sopping wet and she can't take her eyes off him.'


A/N: Gunningtwice left this over in the fic request/challenge thread on GW and I thought I would give it a try.

_Prompt:  
**CARNIVAL** - Soul (unwillingly) in a dunking booth, Maka perving? Obviously inspired by the first repeat opening. ^^_

* * *

Wet

He's wet. Dripping, soaking, sopping wet and she can't take her eyes off him. He's also irritated, but that's old news. She stands with Tsubaki and Patti just down the fairway from the dunking booth where her fuming partner grumbles and stumbles his way up the ladder of the dunk tank.

The water has his hair plastered to his neck and forehead and he has to blow his bangs out of his eyes to glare at her around the drips. She's riveted. So are about a dozen other girls, it seems, as they crowd around the dunking booth; arms outstretched, tickets waving, all eager for their turn to dunk the death scythe. But his eyes are on her and even though he's annoyed, it sends a tingle up her spine having his attention so focused on her. The girls gathered at the tossing line titter and argue in not-so-hushed voices about who will go first, and Soul grimaces, giving her a glimpse of those pointy, pearly whites that now invade her dreams a few nights a week. She licks her lips and wishes her mouth wasn't so suddenly desert dry.

He's out of the water now, lazily making his way the scant few steps to the bench. Lazy and slow, just like ninety-seven percent of everything he does. Right now though, the listless way her weapon moves does the exact opposite of irritate her. Instead she takes the time to appricate his ass.

And Soul has a great ass.

His shorts are sliding their way down his hips and she can almost make out the white-ish waistband of his boxers. She knows he only has one pair of white boxers and she also knows that, despite it being a million degrees past Christmas, that they're covered in mistletoe. She knows this because she did the laundry last night, and they were at the very top of the 'fold it yourself' pile of Soul's clothes and for some reason the fact that she knows this sets her cheeks to burning.

He's not looking at her anymore, but she's still staring. Having hastily averted her eye above his waistline, she is forced to notice that his shirt, once dry and plain enough, is doing absolutely squat by way of cover. The light blue material might as well be translucent for all that it hides. It clings stubbornly to his chest and shoulders even as he pulls and tries to right it. Even through the layer of fabric, it is easy to make out the definition of his back and torso. In her professional opinion, he should just lose the damn shirt altogether.

She can hear him grumbling again and he seems to have come to the same conclusion about the useless piece of cloth as she, because suddenly he's hauling the thing over his head and tossing it over the side of the tank. It hits the ground with a loud 'squelch' and her eyes just can't get big enough to look at all of him at once. She hopes her mouth isn't hanging open quiet as far as it feels like it is.

The scar stands out easily against his tanned skin, and she still feels a small pang of the familiar guilt before it's shoved aside by thoughts of fingers and lips and tongue on skin. Now can feel the blush reaching the tops of her ears and she's half hoping she can just melt her way into the ground before anyone else notices her looking like a tomato. When had she become such a pervert!

She yanks a tuft of cotton candy off the stick in her hands and shoves it into her mouth before she starts drooling on herself over _stupid _Soul, or something equally as embarrassing. Partner in question seems oblivious to her plight, a little scowl still stuck to his face, as he braces his arms on the side of the tank and lowers himself to sit on the bench. It's a enchanting sort of torture to watch every muscle in his arms twist and flex with the effort. She wonders if they would look as lovely planted on her headboard while his body covers hers. She can imagine the way his chest would flex as he dips down to kiss her—

"Hellooo~ Earth to Maka!" Patti is waving a hand in front of her face and maka's head snaps in her direction, wide eyes darting to her two friends.

"I—um—what?" She stammers, mouth still full of melting pink fluff. She swallows hard, blush returning with full force. "Sorry, I kinda zoned out…"

"I was just asking how on earth you got Soul to agree to the dunking booth," Tsubaki said, a sly smile tipping up her lips. "He doesn't really seem…enthusiastic." The girls begin slowly picking their way towards the booth.

"You have no idea." Maka rolls her eyes in Soul's direction and the other girls laugh at the sight of Soul taking another dip at the hands of an underclassman with great aim. "We made a sort of deal," Maka says, mouth quirking into a frown. The girls are almost at the edge of the tank when Soul manages to fish himself out.

Soul is leaning over the wall of the tank when her catches her eye. "Hey, bookworm," He calls and she doesn't even want to look at the smug grin she knows is on his face.

But he's wet. Dripping, soaking, sopping wet and she can't take her eyes off him.

"You remember our deal, Maka." He's really grinning now; sharp and cocky and blatantly full of gloating and she can only glare back at him. "It's time for us to switch."

Behind her, she can hear Patti and Tusbaki laughing and she takes another bite of cotton candy.


End file.
